Thursday, October 11, 2018

Ananya S Guha writes


Roadside Dreams

There is the arena of hope 
a bit of mist, shrouded 
into unbecoming land 
and it pours, the rains 
on these hill tops and caves 
brush against  my body,
the starched shirt, with the 
ominous smell of  'something 
goes on'
something is going on everyday 
with the moon wearing whiskers 
and the sun nestling on hill slopes 
and in the midst, the arena of hope 
dreams, dreaming, continues to over pour 
till a vast  tide of  the river enters a hill town 
and the floods besmirch the hills, the pines 
I light candles surrounded by promontories 
of  vision.
Flicker of argument.
A ray of light 
the last bus in town, now trundles 
alongside my roadside dreams. 
Image result for Renee Shilling moon man paintings
Old Man and the Moon -- Dianne Renee Shilling

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